


Soul Sick

by CantSpeakFae



Series: BtVS: One Shots [5]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Guilt, Magic-Users, Mental Illness, Souled Vampire(s), Souled!Drusilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 07:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16013663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSpeakFae/pseuds/CantSpeakFae
Summary: She was a daisy herself, all wilted and brown, but it was never drops of glass from the heavens that could save her, but the crimson sea that pushed and pulled through the little lambs so lost without their shepherd.





	Soul Sick

“It’s raining, it’s pouring...the old man in boring.”

Drusilla hummed softly, twirling and dancing her way through the woods, her fingertips grazing against the rough bark of trees that stood as mighty soldiers to guard the fairies that would never come to dance with her. She could speak to the rain if she liked, but it would never think to answer her. She could not begrudge it of the silence, though, for it was far too busy rescuing withering daisies to say much to her. She was a daisy herself, all wilted and brown, but it was never drops of glass from the heavens that could save her, but the crimson sea that pushed and pulled through the little lambs so lost without their shepherd.

“He went to bed, without his head...the fishes were all left in mourning…”

Drusilla was lost, too, with no Daddy or brave Knight to speak of. But she was not a lamb. There was no gentle heart hidden within her, anymore. Daddy reached into her chest when she shattered beneath him, and he stole it away to keep in his pocket until the sun burned up the sky. Sometimes she thought she ought to try and steal it back if only to offer it to her dear, sweet Spike but no one ever hurt it as sweetly as Daddy, and thievery was still in a sin. God would be displeased…

Daddy was God, sitting so high in the sky that the mud from the ground could never stain his coat, but poor little Drusilla drowned in it. Her dress was stained with virgin’s blood when Daddy took her to his new heaven, and she could never shine again. Her flower was picked and then cast aside to wither away like the daisies.

Daisies. Drusilla loved Daisies. She thought she might find some here, hidden like the fairies in the trees. She would take good care of them, this time. Watering them like Daddy watered her, with fresh blood and sinful whispers. They always crumbled like ashes beneath her pale fingertips, but she knew she could grow them as tall as heaven if she only tried a bit harder...and, if Miss Edith- the naughty thing - would keep the lace around her eyes. The woods were no place for such a delicate gaze, after all. It was dark here, with only patches of silvery moonlight for Drusilla to follow.

Breadcrumbs. Breadcrumbs from the sky. The stars would whisper to her, and lead her to the house of sweets where she would be devoured by the witch. Magic. Magic. Painful magics. She knew it was coming, but there was no way to go but forward. Straight ahead, without Daddy or Spike. They were whisked away by little women with hair spun of gold and didn’t allow her the dignity of a house burned to ashes. Poor little Drusilla, cast aside.

The stars whispered broken words to her, and she heard them all with a smile. They’d always sung such pretty songs of suffering to her, even before she cracked down the middle. Here, surrounded by trees, their song was unusually loud and reminded her of her Mummy. She had once told Drusilla that the Angels, so sweet with their wings and halos, lived in the stars. In the heavens, where their eyes could not see. The sweet sounds of pain came from the Angels with burning wings, she knew. She talked to them, and begged them to take her away, sometimes… they never came. Not then, and not now. She was left in the thick forests of Romania - yes, that was where she was, wasn’t? Safe and sound, hidden from the burning fishes that swim around heads and mourned dead old men. - following a path that had been picked for her so long ago that even God did not have a memory of it.

God. God almighty, in his throne of gold. Did he remember her? Poor little Drusilla had wanted to be a bride of the Lord. Pure to the end, buried with a flower untouched between her legs. She would have been so sweetly devoted to her lord if he had not sent an Angel to take her away.

An Angel. Her Angel. He was as quiet as death and burned like the touch of hell. She was still burning, long after he was gone. So bright that it was a wonder that the whole forest did not burn with her. If nothing else, the grass that was so slick beneath her slippers should be blazing. That was where the demons lived, disguised as the green blades that tried to capture her by her ankles and pull her through the dirt to wither. Wither and curl in on herself like her daisies. Her Angel made sure that she would no hell, so she could hide from it. That was a gift to her. The sisters did not tell her of the generosity her Angel of Death would bring her. They never spoke of the way he would defile them all, and wipe the blood from his fingers on their habits.

Perhaps they just did not hear the song of the stars as she did. That was what made her an evil thing, wasn’t? The sight. The visions. The songs of blood, fire, and death.

Blood. Fire. Death. Oh, it all mixed on her tongue like mud and vinegar, making her smile. It was waiting for her, in the dark. She could hear the footsteps, branches snapping in the distance. Free. Wild. These people knew who she was and what she wanted. A prize. A delicate flower for her Daddy to paint red. That would bring him back to her, and she knew it. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. That was all she wanted. Spike, her sweet boy, had electric spiders dancing in his brain, next to the Slayer. He was gone, gone, gone. Daddy was still there, though. Daddy would come back to play if she could pick him a pretty flower.

They had taken a flower from here once before. So long ago, before Daddy got sick. He said it was the finest blood to ever touch his lips. Pure lips. Lips that promised sweet pain before he showed his teeth. Drusilla would shiver and shudder and beg for more. He would give her all that she asked, as long as he had a pretty flower to decorate his floor.

“Here...pretty, pretty, pretty…” She called, coming to a halt in a patch of moonlight. It made her glow like the pure thing she’d once been...but she tingled all over in the reflection from the sun. Such pretty pain, all that she needed from death. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. “Come to Mummy, pretty flowers...Daddy’s cross and we’ll have no lemon or cream if we can’t cure him of his disease.”

“You shouldn’t have come here, Drusilla.”

A voice. It growled to her from the trees, nothing like the delicate music of the stars and Drusilla slowly turned, as delicate as a ballerina- she could have been a ballerina, Hands over her head, legs bent, twirling to music. Delicate as china. Shattered as she should be.- to try and peer at the growl who had said her name.

“...I only wanted a flower.” Drusilla said, her forehead creasing as she started to pout. “Couldn’t I have one? If I asked very, very nicely?”

“She means to rob us of another daughter!” Another voice hissed, and Drusilla twirled again, trying to find it. It burned her ears, bright as the sun and as angry as the demons in the grass. She ought to tell them that she cared naught for their daughters; she was a mummy herself, mummy to Miss Edith, but the starlight was sitting on her tongue and if she spoke, it might fly away on the wings of butterflies.

“Quiet, my son. There is no need for panic...the Elder woman spoke of this, and we are prepared. Another punishment. Another curse. Vengeance for the name of our daughters, who are threatened by this creature’s very presence!”

Shouting. Such terrible shouting. Like cries of thunder and salt on her tongue. Drusilla let out a little whimper and reached up to hold her head in her hands. The stars were screaming now, and she was trapped. She was in the house of sweets, and the burning was soon to follow as she tumbled into the oven and was baked as cakes...sweet little cakes, and none for Miss Edith.

Drusilla took a step back, but it was too late. A circle had been made by the hands of the angels. Burning lights glowed brighter than the moon as candles were lit, revealing a sacred circle made up of bones that were plucked from brave beasts, stones that sang a low song, and incense...it burned so sweetly and Drusilla wrinkled her nose with distaste. Hell was coming. Death and Daddy and the stars...they’d all forsaken her. God was not here.

A man knelt at the circle, and she could see his eyes in the candlelight. They glinted like the wings of a beetle and Drusilla clapped her hands with delight. Pretty eyes. Maybe Death would take her after all...he had once before, but then he’d given her back to her Angel. To keep. To take. To throw away.

Poor little Drusilla. All alone again. Nothing but whispers of the moonlight and cranberries on her tongue to keep her company now.

The whispers grew, and she realized that it was not the moon that made those sounds, but the man...the man that sitting in the dirt. He spat bitter words in her direction and they made her tingle...made her tingle all over…

“Este scris, această putere este dreptul poporul meu de a conduce.” One voice growled, away from the circle. And then...the demons in the grass grabbed her, and held her still for the burning...it was beginning, candles dripping their wax over her skin and making her melt inside.

“Nici mort, nici al fiinţei, te invoc, spirit al trecerii. Redă trupului ce separe omul de animal. Aşa să fie cu ajutorul acestui!”

A little orb in a bowl glowed brightly. The sun fallen from the sky. And then...it vanished with fire. That fire found Drusilla and she let out a visceral, animalistic scream as she fell to the cold, hard ground. She writhed against the dirt and cried. She cried for Daddy. She cried for God, for her Spike, for Grandmummy...for Miss Edith and for her real mummy and Daddy. She cried for the way her blood-stained soul stung her when it slipped back into her body, and she cried for the hollow taste of jasmine on her tongue.

She cried and cried. Long after the pain had subsided, and long after candles were blown out by the growls in the dark. Sprawled out in the dirt, with the pale moonlight illuminating her face, Drusilla cried. The taste of ashes was on her tongue, and she would never be able to make it go away. When she closed her eyes she saw the fire and death that she had brought...the blood on her hands that would never wash off...children, and mummies, and old men all brought to death. Death by her. Death by Drusilla. Death, Death, Death.

So, her mummy had been right.

She was an evil, evil thing.


End file.
